


After Dusk

by domesticheart



Category: Tales of Peter Rabbit (Books)
Genre: Writing practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticheart/pseuds/domesticheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jemima Puddle-Duck is afraid of the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck written by Beatrix Potter. I claim no rights to that particular work, but would appreciate if you would not re-post this elsewhere, please and thank you!

It had been in the late evening, and Jemima Puddle-Duck was returning home to feed four hungry mouths with the pond plants she had gathered up in her little wicker basket. The path she was traveling upon was dark, and lead through a small patch of dreary woodland that she felt skittish around even during the daylight hours. The older geese women were known to spin fantastical tales about ghosts and spirits lurking about after the sun goes down, and Jemima was not inclined to ignore their warnings. Oh, no, Jemima was one scared duck when she noticed the light had been receding through the tree tops for the past half hour, eventually giving way to blackness. She began to startle at every faint howl and even the sound of her own light footsteps on the forest floor. This was indeed quite the dilemma for poor Jemima, because, as a duck, you waddle, and everyone knows that waddling is much more slow-going than walking.  
  
And so Jemima did the only thing a decent little duck lady can do; fret.  
  
"Oh, goodness! Quack!" She cried upon encountering a rogue stone with her webbed foot and nearly falling flat upon her face.  
  
"Dear me!" Jemima exclaimed, momentarily terrified by a gnarly tree that seemed to be snarling at her with its gaping maw, which would have just been an ordinary squirrel's den if the sun were reigning in the sky.  
  
It was around this same hour of the evening that Mr. Tod could be seen making his nightly rounds. He had been enjoying a relatively quiet evening in solitude when the distressed quacking of Missus Puddle-Duck reached his ears. Now, imagine for a moment that you are one Mr. Tod. You are, indeed, a fox, and you are cunning and tricky to a certain extent, but you also have a penchant for wearing (excessively) nice clothing and being ( disturbingly to others in the carnivorous community ) polite. You also happen to have an unlit lantern swinging at your hip. There is a very tough decision to make, here; have duck for dinner by the light of your lantern or escort the poor soul home with it.  
  
Grudgingly, Mr. Tod approached Jemima, and while taking great care not to startle her, proceeded to do so anyway.  
  
"Quack!" Jemima shrieked in absolute terror. All it had taken was a sharp prod with his walking stick to scare the living daylights out of her. In of a flurry of white feathers, Jemima whirled around to find herself face to face with the friendly gentleman from the last Spring. Or, at least, the fox who she herself considered to be a very dear friend to her and her brood.  
  
"Hello again, Madam," the fox said to her, whiskers twitching. "I could not help but notice that you seemed to be having a bit of a fright, so I thought that I might offer my services to you," in saying this he raised up the unlit lantern, "and escort you home, if I may."  
  
Jemima was still a tad in shock, and the only reply he received was a faint one. "Quack?" Jemima inquired, still feeling quite ruffled from her earlier panicked outburst.  
  
"Oh! I do apologize. It was not my intention to frighten you." He replied, setting the lantern upon the ground and resting both of his front paws on his cane. Then he simply watched her, expectantly.  
  
Our dearest Jemima found herself caught up in a spell of momentary confusion, and she worried at her floral-patterned handkerchief for a good while before she replied in the affirmative.  
  
And if Miss Jemima Puddle-Duck arrived home safely, not a feather out-of-place; Well, everyone would assume on the morrow that she had simply braved the night, all on her lonesome and nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on fanfiction.net


End file.
